100 Moments That Shaped Their World
by Nicole Silverwolf
Summary: 100 different stories, spanning the length of the Jak and Daxter universe. Because the story never really ends when the game finishes, glimpses are all we may ever get.
1. Together

_Disclaimer: Not Mine. The End._

_Author's Notes: A few years ago I started a challenge for myself and having been inspired by several other fandoms and their embrace of this style I thought I'd post them here. These are varying vignettes set throughout the Jak and Daxter series. Spoilers for all the games. Occasional brief use of OCs. I will give you a sense of where each piece falls in the series timeline. 90 are exactly 100 words long, 10 are exactly 500 words long. The project overall at the moment is incomplete but I hope this will inspire me to keep going._

_Comments are always welcome._

**100 Moments That Shaped Their World**

**by, Nicole Silverwolf**

_"Of course that is not the whole story, but that is the way with stories; we make them what we will. It's a way of explaining the universe while leaving the universe unexplained, it's a way of keeping it all alive, not boxing it into time"_

_-Jeanette Winterson_

* * *

I don't remember where mom got those stories about Mar we heard growing up.

Bed wasn't possible without them...or poopsy bear.

My sis Zaya, thought mom made them up so we'd sleep.

But there was one...

_Mar hadn't died in the Wars. He'd lost someone._

_And one day, he walked into the Wasteland and never returned. _

"To look for'em right?" we'd asked.

Eager.

Naive.

Mom would just smile sad.

_No._

When we'd been kids, the woman he loved must've left.

Looking back as grown Wastelanders, we agreed that best friends closer than family was truer for Daxter and Jak.


	2. Lonely

**A/N: Post Jak 2**

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* * *

**

"Jak, what're you doing out here? The mountain temple's not safe."

Keira was always the most cautious of their trio.

He tilted his head indulgently and smiled his most reassuring grin.

She settled next to him.

"Aren't you lonely out here, by yourself?"

His eyes broadcast confusion.

"What's wrong?"

Shifted blue eyes. _Look around._

Curled in a dozing ball at his side, Daxter looked remarkably content. The crocadog who'd trailed his younger self everywhere was trying to eat butterflies.

Pecker soared by unexpectedly.

Keira apologized, embarrassed at her assumptions.

Jak shrugged--good-natured acceptance.

He wasn't alone.

He was home.


	3. Water

**A/N: Torn is eight, Tess is five and this is long before Jak II.**

**

* * *

**"Look! Rainbows!"

"Where?" Not that Torn _really_ cared.

"There, see?" Tess pulled him.

They peered down at stagnant water. Oil left iridescent swirls on the surface.

"Watch this." She skimmed confident fingers in the sludge.

"Don't Tess!" Torn grabbed her--honestly upset.

"Why not?"

"You'll get sick."

"How do you know? You're just scared."

"No I'm not...my mom got sick from it."

He tugged again.

"C'mon. Curfew starts soon."

They scrambled to their feet.

"Did your mom get better?"

"No. She died 'cause she got cancer. From the water."

Tess grabbed his hand.

"Sorry."

A long pause.

"'Sokay Tess."


	4. Opposites

**A/N: Long before the Precursor Legacy but not long after the end of Jak II.**

**

* * *

**Samos never connected the orange nuisance Jak traveled with to a friend.

They were too polar, appearances aside.

But days into Sandover, Jak met a scrawny red-head. They grew remarkably close through the seasons.

Daxter had snuck over--again.

He found them, feet dangling out the window in exactly the manner he'd forbidden.

Daxter jabbered away (they'd been apart since dinner).

Halfway through a sentence though...attentive silence.

Samos understood some cursory signs. His and Jak's communication was...difficult.

Clearly, neither child needed such crude techniques.

They descended into a mutual laughing brawl instantly.

Deja-vu somehow reversed.

Samos _understood_.


	5. Lost

**A/N: Jak II**

* * *

Left, right, two doors down and...

_Shit_.

He mentally reviewed the directions. Attempted to nonchalantly spot a familiar landmark.

Daxter wasn't fooled.

"Let me guess...you don't have a clue where we are...do ya Jak?"

"Yes I do." His reply was too parroted.

"Ok...so where's the Underground entrance?"

"...Ummm..."

"See. We're lost."

"It's fine Dax. We're just taking the scenic route. That's all."

"Ohh...is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

"Yeah, you're just getting old Dax."

Teasingly confident. Playful even. Familiar.

The response was instantaneous, outraged and expected. "What?!? You're older than me Jak!"

"...only six months..."


	6. Memory

**A/N: Post Jak 3**

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* * *

**

You watch him absorb every story he can find about Damas. Maybe if he hears enough, he'll remember his lost childhood.

When he asks, you say the trinket around your neck isn't anything more than a piece of metal.

Kept because it's been through as much as you have.

Even though you've always known what all the notches symbolize.

It lets him think of that red scarf and googles in the same light.

Because if he asks about the curves on his own heirloom, you don't want to see that ache in his eyes when you can't tell him anything.


	7. Sleep

**A/N: Somewhere fairly early on in Jak II.**

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* * *

**

He scrubbed his eyes with his hand so hard it must've hurt. Daxter drooped, unconsciously yawning.

Too young blue peered at her blearily.

"Jak...when was the last time you slept?" Teasing. Worried.

They were sudddenly recticent, eyes downcast--uncomfortable.

"...been rainin' a lot Tess. Doesn't make for great sleeping."

"Why didn't you say you needed a place?" she hissed--horrified.

Embarrassed silence.

"There's a room here. It's got a mattress. Nothing else, but it's dry. Safe. You can use it whenever you want."

She wasn't surprised to find them curled asleep for weeks after, even though the rain ended.


	8. Food and Drink

**A/N: Early on after Jak has been captured in Jak II before Daxter.**

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* * *

**

"Hey! Give that back y'little shit." Sig bellowed.

The thing that had pilfered lunch panicked, obviously a terrible thief. He raced into a narrow corner and couldn't escape the bulky Wastelander.

An orange rat?

Matted and excruciatingly thin.

Yet with fierce, determined blue eyes.

It was clutching his sandwich. Obviously the first meal he'd found in days.

Sig sighed, checked they were alone, then put the other sandwich down nearby.

He wasn't hungry anyway.

"Don't make this stealing my food a habit now or nothing, y'hear?"

Daxter (though Sig didn't know it yet) came back daily to do just that.


	9. Secret

**A/N: Set very far before Jak II right up until the beginning of Jak 3.**

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* * *

**

The city--his people--would find a way to survive.

But Ashelin was barely five.

Her father--a dangerous traitor.

The Wasteland--no place for children.

"Lord Damas?"

"I want you to keep this hidden with you Ashelin."

Curious green eyes and tiny hands traced Precursor metal.

"It's a beacon. If you're not safe here, for any reason. Press this. I'll find you. Understand?"

An obedient nod. "Are you leaving?"

Another somber nod. "Don't forget. Keep it secret. Promise."

"Yessir!"

_Brave girl_.

Twenty years passed.

Damas would have answers. And for this boy's sake, they'd better include _'Ashelin is alive'._


	10. Natural

**A/N: During Jak 3**

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* * *

**

Vessels of every kind lay ready. People, old and young alike huddled in doorways anticipating nature's fury like an arena battle.

"Looks like another sandstorm. Not like we don't have THOSE every day of the week." Daxter drawled uncertainly. Sig had appeared minutes earlier, perching himself on a vehicle rollcage to watch the weather with oddly pensive anticipation. This just seemed to be more than your run of the mill sandstorm.

A flash lit their world followed by a terrific crash. Daxter tumbled from his hold, startled by something that obviously _wasn't thunder,** okay JAK!**_ The smirk laced with something almost childish was proof enough of Jak's thoughts.

There was the distinct patter of wetness on the ground.

All the warning the city had before the deluge commenced.

It was a classic thunderstorm, pounding rain, thunder booming and lightening jumping from ground to the air. Spectacularly fierce fitting to the Wasteland.

There was a taunting shout and a sudden streak of low to the ground orange dashing out into the downpour. Daxter was foolhardy but Sig was sure the ottsel had at least a grasp on common sense.

Until now though.

He was reveling in the water. Arms wide open and tilted very close to falling back on his ass.

Jak shot out a second later, hastily skidding to a stop and struggling to get the morph gun off his back. Sig watched him stumble from one foot to the other, attempting to break a record for getting his boots off.

Communicators, and the precursor metal he'd acquired on his first artifact hunt joined the haphazard pile. Without a backwards glance he shot back out, wide grin on his full-out running face. When he lobbed a pitch of something forward, there could be no doubt he had a plan in mind.

Jak wasn't laughing, but he was completely unaware that he was being watched. Grinning and at ease in a way that Sig had never witnessed in the time he'd known Haven's renegade savior.

"Ha! First blood baby," Daxter triumphed after lobbing a perfect shot at Jak's head, to which he received a response right between the shoulder blades. Clearly this was some time honored tradition, the two of them racing in circles hurling mud at each other.

"Hey! Cherries!" Sig called. Jak stopped abruptly, overbalanced and fell flat to the ground. Which was all that "saved" him from Sig's pitch, slung just where his shoulder would have been.

Daxter was on the verge of laughing, mouth open, when he felt a glob of mud nail him in the shoulder. Wastelanders challengingly eyed them and each other. It was silent as the water poured; no one was really sure what to do.

And then of course, all hell broke loose.

Damas stood agape in the aftermath, his finest warriors breathless and filthy. In the center of it all, he somehow wasn't surprised to find Jak, Daxter and Sig innocently standing at perfect attention, covered head to toe in incrimination.


	11. Passion

**A/N:**** Anytime during Jak II**

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* * *

**

Wars didn't stop for holidays. But once operatives were sent home to waiting families, he'd slipped away.

When he stepped into her room, no camera had recorded him. Something was in her hands, drawn close and obviously treasured.

It was sentimental--probably dangerous--that she'd kept that red scarf.

He stepped deliberately and spent minutes getting her gun out of his face.

Later, they lay curled together, her arms around his. He'd barely glanced at memos she was feeding him while admiring her.

He wouldn't return for weeks.

And wondered what it would feel like to never have to leave.


	12. Destiny

**A/N: At least 70 years before Jak II**

**

* * *

**

There was a strange man who sold rarities in the bazaar. He'd traveled extensively outside Haven.

"Hey...you Onin?"

The teenager warily paused at the stall's edge.

"Yeah, so?"

"The monks said you'd need this. Can't see why...mangy, dirty thing."

"Who said I'd take anything from you?"

She left without a backwards glance.

The next day, he disappeared.

A week later she heard something and risked an exploration. There'd been a thief around. Maybe she'd get orbs for turning him in.

What she found was a monkaw. Sickly and crawling with parasites...how could he possibly change her life?


	13. Wings

**A/N: Mid Jak 3.**

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* * *

**

He'd flown!

Even as they rushed from the Temple, bearing dire warnings; he couldn't push the wonder from his mind.

It'd been clumsily awkward, but with practice he'd improve.

Daxter looked equally elated, head high and arms spread against the winds.

How he was still on the Hopper was a miracle.

Jak let out a bright shout, part adrenaline, part pure elation. Extended his hand from the roll cage to surf the early morning breeze.

Daxter was eying him suddenly--strangely. Like he'd found something he thought he'd lost.

Their shouting laughter tailed them all the way back to Spargus.


	14. Laughter

**A/N: Anytime during Jak II.**

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* * *

**

There were the occasional nervous twitters-always strained and anxiety laced. Mostly it was a sarcastic way to retort to an impossible request.

Torn needs enough eco ammo for seven different guns? Yesterday?

Sure! Not like those things were under _guard_ or anything! He'd just walk up to the ammo depo and take his pick!

This program called DWP? Get us everything you possibly can on where they're conducting these experiments? 'Of course!' he'd scoff, clutching his sides in mirth or pain (no one could tell). It wasn't like if he was caught he'd be executed for treason or anything.


	15. Silence

**A/N: Before Jak 3.****

* * *

**

Daxter's absence was acute for the lack of chatter.

He was aware of being powerless...not since prison had he felt that way.

Words hadn't helped him through this mockery of a hearing.

Actions were what had gotten him here.

Jak had stilled to silence when it was clear he was being ignored.

Though clearly opposed to the Council's decision Torn never voiced an opinion (even if the Underground's commander had no power now). He'd _recruited_ Jak for half of their accusations.

Samos offering nothing in defense though; that silence cut.


	16. Goodbye

**A/N: End of Jak 3.**

**

* * *

**

The steps of the Arena dove before him; the voices of Spargus' people rose behind. The ocean crashed against the rocks.

Life was going on.

Damas was strangely satisfied by that knowledge.

He smiled at the boy's single-minded determination, watching Jak race towards those he'd only just left.

Towards home.

Leaving the Precursors behind.

"Ready now?" his observer asked.

There was a momentary wish, to watch the rest of his child's life. To stay even if the young man wouldn't know. For an instant it was overwhelming.

But Jak would be fine.

The King of Spargus nodded without regret.


	17. Hero

**A/N: Set mid Jak 3.**

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* * *

**

He followed Ashelin doggedly towards the docking bays.

"What if he didn't make it to Spargus?"

She paused.

"He made it. You know he's more stubborn than a yakow."

"You won't convince him to come back." Torn asserted. Even if he'd been contemplating a similar trip.

"He's a hero. He won't abandon us."

"We didn't do anything when they exiled him. You think Jak's just gonna let that go?" Torn grabbed her arm forcefully.

Her eyes were defiant...made her beautiful beyond her body.

"I have to try Torn."

Slate blue eyes slid away; it wouldn't be nearly that easy.


	18. Deception

**A/N: Relatively late in Jak X.**

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* * *

**

The wrench dropped too often to blame clumsiness. Daxter didn't _feel_ sick, but things were getting harder. His hands were constantly numb and trying to form a fist _hurt_.

If he couldn't grip the fender, he'd fall. Die.

He could reach Jak's shoulder in his sleep. But he dreaded the moment Jak would find out that he couldn't anymore.

"What's up with you Dax? Everything alright?" Jak was holding out his wrench, quirky smile and genuine concern filled his teasing question.

"Course Jak...just a little hungover s'all." Daxter snatched the offending tool, twirling it just to prove he could.


	19. Innocence

**A/N: Prior to entering the tomb in Jak II.**

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* * *

**

"We found Mar's tomb!" Daxter crowed.

"Good work boys. We'll need to take the Kid there immediately."

"You wanna what?" Daxter shouted.

"Samos...it's not safe."

"Jak, I understand your concern, but..." Samos trailed off.

The child eagerly proffered the limp ottsel he'd been cuddling.

While they drove, there was an out of place tug on his goggles, one he wouldn't automatically associate with Daxter. He flinched violently.

It showed, because the child burst into a reassuring smile.

Somehow it wasn't as disconcerting as he'd expected.

When a tiny hand slipped inside his, Jak squeezed playfully instead of pulling away.


	20. Torn

**A/N: Can be set anywhere in Jak II**

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* * *

**

They'd made it an almost tradition on Wednesday evenings to get a drink with Tess. Krew wasn't around on these nights contrary to the popular opinion he couldn't physically leave the bar.

Daxter certainly appreciated the opportunity to flirt with the sweet blonde.

Jak simply enjoyed the good company. Tess never prodded him into conversations, but was always open and there if he wanted to unload. A comforting offer similar to Daxter's mere presence.

"Hey...Tess?"

"Yeah Daxter?" It would be another six months before gooey nicknames became everyday vernacular.

"Who're these people? You...got kids I don't know about babe?" Daxter had pulled something from the register, obviously tucked there for sentimental reasons.

She took the picture from the ottsel, laughing at the outlandish assumption.

"No! See," she pointed to a waif with blonde pig-tails, wearing shorts and a bright pink t-shirt, "that's me."

Tess bent to include a curious Jak into the conversation. The idea that anyone had lived a happy childhood here...felt surreal.

A boy close to Tess' age was helping to hold up a trophy. He had dark skin, and hadn't strayed far from an obvious sibling--an older girl with cornrows and confident eyes. Three others displayed bandaged scars like high fashion.

"Who's that?" Jak pointed to a short, red-brown haired boy triumphantly holding a ball high overhead, grin splitting his face. Another child had his arm slung over the boy's shoulders and the two reminded Jak of Daxter and him.

"I guess he _does_ look different in this picture." Tess tried to hide the giggle behind her hand and failed miserably.

"That's Torn. We lived in the same building growing up."

"No way! That's the guy who runs the Underground? You sure we're talking 'bout the same person?" Daxter did a poor imitation of the perpetually serious commander. Jak thought it immediately silly he'd pictured Torn always having the radiant design on his face.

Tess continued, amused by their dumbstruck expressions. "Kinda amazing huh? These two moved away when I was eight. I haven't seen them since."

"The boys there died when Metal Heads destroyed what's now Dead Town."

"...she has a shop in the bazaar... he's working..."

They'd apparently won some sport tournament and a parent had captured the victory celebration in front of their once homes.

The image, a moment so far removed from the present transfixed Jak. Torn had been like that once? He couldn't reconcile the person he'd become with a Sandover past any more than he could see this eager child within Torn. What had changed?

Frustrating because it was just another reminder of what had been taken by the Baron.

Something no revenge could bring back.

Daxter was attempting to wheedle Tess into pulling her hair into pigtails. She could barely breathe from laughing so hard.

As Jak corralled his waywardly lewd partner--the picture returned to its owner--he wondered if Torn fought so fiercely for that lost time he'd never see again.


	21. Trouble

**A/N: Sometime before Jak II.**

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* * *

**

He was crumpled in an alleyway, losing blood and desperate to keep moving. He needed to find a place to tend his wounds, rest, find the resistance he _knew_ was in Haven's slums.

Marshaling nonexistent strength, Torn managed to get vertical with generous support from the wall.

Amazingly he managed another four blocks before his legs gave out. Announcements from nearby PA systems called for his immediate capture for treason.

Tess was crouched over him, bright in the murky alley.

_She was alive? _He wondered in the spaces between pain.

It had been years since they'd spoken.

"...Oh Precursors...Torn?"


	22. Childhood

**A/N: Sometime during Jak II or 3.**

**

* * *

**

"Hey, remember Sentinel Beach? Man that was the best. We were really ridiculous for climbing those statues every night just to watch the sunset huh? Y'could see forever and it'd turn the water these awesome colors. Ya couldn't _beat_ that fresh air. It was cool even in the middle of summer! Those crabs though, they were a total pain...hiding like they got some perverse pleasure snapping at _me_..."

Jak leaned--to the outside observer drunk--against his best friend's back. Daxter paused, eyes shifting nervously.

"Keep going," he murmured, eyes closed.

"...glad Samos never found out since I'm sure..."


	23. Power

**A/N: Anytime in Jak II or prior to the end of Jak 3.**

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* * *

**

He spent inordinate amounts of time in Haven these days.

It wouldn't change anything.

"You cannot interfere. These things must occur for the future's sake."

Didn't mean he couldn't...nudge a little as it were.

He could rewrite _everyone's_ history.

Except Jak's.

Explaining Dark Eco powers...off limits (he was _bending_ that rule by speaking through a sacred object). Taking away the torture Jak endured...definitely off limits.

So he created blankets and clear sunrises. Kept the worst night terrors away. Gave them moments they could genuinely laugh.

Pathetic.

He wanted to pray for forgiveness.

Who would he pray to?


	24. Beach

**A/N: After the ending of Jak 3**

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* * *

**

Dawn was a thin yellow on the horizon.

He'd never seen the ocean before today.

It was vaster 'rawer' than he'd pictured. His skin stretched in the salt saturated air.

"Put that down." Exasperation from below his too highly aimed gun. "It's me."

All Tess, despite the change.

"You alright Torn?"

He reversed it instead of answering. "I should be asking you...I didn't turn into a Precursor."

"It's a little overwhelming." She confessed.

"You wish for the right reasons?" _'You love him?'_ Unspoken--not bitter or incredulous.

No hesitance in her eyes though.

He nodded firmly. "Just making sure."


	25. Victory

**A/N: Set post Jak 3.**

* * *

How many times did I pass him on the street?

Why did I glance at those posters of the renegade and his strange orange shoulder attachment and not think twice?

I criss-crossed the city daily. Earned my courier reputation by practically memorizing these streets. I must have seen them.

Right?

I watch Jak and wonder if we'd searched _there_, asked _them_, would we have found him sooner? Could we have survived as a society if we did?

Sig's explained it to us, how a child of four suddenly became eighteen.

Bitter to realize our future required that we fail.


	26. Choice

**A/N: Well before Jak II**

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* * *

**

Someone bumped her shoulder muttering a perfunctory apology. Disconcerting—liberating—to be unrecognized after a childhood in governmental privilege.

Before she entertained any more doubts Ashelin stepped up to the trim man in uniform behind the desk. He had blocks tattooed across his face and likely the rest of his body.

"Can I help you?" he asked, toneless and uninterested.

Her hand didn't tremble as she passed the application across the desk. Every feature of her stance dared him to comment.

He barely glanced at the paper; she wasn't even sure he'd read her name.

"Welcome to the Krimzon Guard."


	27. Defeat

**A/N: Pretty shortly after the beginning of Jak II before the events in Daxter.  
**

**

* * *

**

He couldn't remember where he'd stopped.

Trying equaled thinking which was a BAD THING. He fought the urge to empty his stomach even though there was nothing left to bring up.

Precursors...this couldn't be happening.

Daxter hadn't found work. The dump wasn't glamorous but _was_ unguarded. Sometimes he found blankets to ward off the pre-dawn temperatures.

A sob choked him and he couldn't swallow it.

He'd failed.

Hugged the discovered object desperately. Felt overwhelming tears.

They'd been a gift from his uncle. Daxter knew Jak wouldn't remove the headgear willingly.

Jak must be dead.

He'd blame himself forever.


	28. Hell

**A/N: Anywhere from the beginning of Jak II through to the end of Jak 3**

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* * *

**

I'm a terrible person.

Spargus rallied when Damas' son was taken.

But few citizens had the ability to search Haven for Mar.

We were too young to have been banished. Most of us fled with our parents when they were exiled.

My girlfriend hates the pollution and crowds. She's still here though. Five years later.

Must be love.

I catch myself somedays, when I open those black bags. Ones they use for dead children.

Because if I find Mar inside one, it means we can leave.

Go home.

I hate myself for praying that.

Good people don't pray for that.


	29. Enough

**A/N: M****id to late Jak 3**

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* * *

**

Torn didn't mask his approach though he wasn't one for flashy noise.

"So...finish off the Daystar yet?"

Meant to be a challenging barb. The closest he ever got to joking.

Jak gazed far beyond Haven's port. Glaringly apparent he was ten years the commander's junior. "I'm trying."

The most earnest statement Torn had ever heard.

He considered blowing the comment off. The world was ending; he couldn't '_try'_ he had to **_do_**.

Instead...truth. "That's all anyone can ask."

"What if that's not good enough?"

"It will be." Not inspiring, or uplifting--Torn didn't "do" either--it _was_ certain.


	30. Courage

**A/N:This is a repost of a current standalone piece in my archive here. It was originally written as a part of this project.**

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**

_He pretended. Especially when Jak got like this, because if he knew he was awake all this time, some kind of pride or embarrassment would keep it from happening again._

_And Jak obviously needed these moments._

_Daxter would oblige him a thousand times over if it helped for even a second._

_Because that was what best friends did. Always._

The world shifted again, breeze ruffling his fur. Daxter forced his muscles to relax--not tense--in compensation to the unevenness of Jak's arm. He never mentioned that two years in Haven made him leery of sleeping heavily. And that ottsels had damn sensitive hearing. Because then Jak would know.

Large fingers were cupping his head, so much gentler than people assumed. Supporting him carefully because he was supposed to be asleep and unaware. Hesitant because Jak knew he could do damage when he wasn't even trying.

Daxter frowned and hoped Jak wouldn't noticed.

He wanted to scream at mothers who pulled their children violently away when they saw Jak in the streets. Somehow wished they could see _these_ moments. But in the same instant didn't want to lose how private--special--this had become.

Yes he could be dangerous. Daxter was probably the most qualified to know. But that didn't mean Jak was a monster. It couldn't mean that.

Really though, he knew it wouldn't do any good to try and explain. They wouldn't understand even then.

Human warmth surrounded him, and he could feel Jak's cheek press against the fur on his forehead. Pushed the short orange hairs in the wrong direction so he could feel every strand.

Ghost whispered breaths on his whiskers and a cool nose dipped against his own. Jak smelled of eco (every kind) and of Haven and a thousand things without names because no one else could detect them.

It was hard to explain to someone who wasn't ottsel sized but it was like everything in him curled closer. Pressing together, trying to fit them in the same space at once. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romantics.

Desperately wanted to see the open, gentle expression on Jak's face he always imagined. That would make these moments complete.

He had opened his eyes once though and nearly spoiled everything. And Jak's expression--so near to crying for real--sunk a rock in Daxter's stomach. Gut-checked him back to reality. This wasn't years ago, when they'd fallen asleep tied around each other because Jak was a sap and they were little.

_Daxter never asked why Jak held onto him so desperately like this sometimes. Like he was the only thing left who'd understand if Jak was just a little weak. _

_Maybe he didn't have the courage to ask why. _

_Maybe it was enough to let Jak hug him for hours when his friend should be sleeping and hope the next time he'd have the guts to hug back. Tell him the truth. And promise it'd be okay no matter what._


	31. Carpe Diem

**A/N: Post the prologue Daxter on PSP

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**

"'Night Dax," one of the bartenders called. She was a good friend--covered for him when he searched too long.

"Kid, we gotta talk."

"Yeah? What's up bossman?" He absently rubbed glassware, briefly eyeing the ones that still needed cleaning.

The owner was a hard-line businessman. But he was honest, nothing but realistic with Daxter.

It was more than most gave him.

"I gotta let you go."

"What?!"

"We're on the verge of closing. Last in, first out." His eyes met dazed blue steadily. "I'm sorry."

Daxter visibly swallowed frustration.

Maybe he _should_ look that crazy old man up.


	32. Remembrance

**A/N: Post Jak 3**

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* * *

**

Damas meant something to Spargus' people. Not just him. They had the right to honor the man. So he'd returned.

The word 'father' hurt. He wondered why. Jak couldn't remember beyond the Precursor ring's light. The king had barely noticed him. Right?

Still, Jak wouldn't leave Damas laying in state surrounded by the city he founded.

Countless citizens paid respect. Daxter stayed--somberly watchful. It helped.

Damas trusted Kliever. Jak never ventured to wonder why.

The uniform was ill-fitting. Why had Kliever kept it?

He didn't speak, stood military straight, but Jak wondered if he knew there were tears.


	33. Gift

**A/N: Anytime after the Precursor Legacy.**

**

* * *

**

As much as he'd expected to pay, in the end few orbs changed hands. It didn't look like much, even as a far as precursor artifacts went.

"Hey," tossed into Jak's outstretched hand, "...got ya somethin."

As they'd mastered wordless communication, Jak simply raised a cautiously curious brow.

"This isn't some prank?"

"I'm crushed."

By tone Daxter clearly wasn't.

A hesitant gesture, hidden behind gruff indifference. "Just open it."

"Dax..." Jak's laughter was amazed, eyes bright. "Where'd you find this?"

Obviously long dormant, the Powercell sprang to life.

Daxter shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to divulge that he'd actively searched for one.


	34. Fear

**A/N: Before the Precursor Legacy began, and a while after the ending of Jak II.**

**

* * *

**

Daxter and Jak were on the porch, poring over my maps with the curious intensity of children. The rain kept them from their usual antics only because both were recovering from colds.

I encourage their wanderlust. Criminal not to nurture such spirit really. If I don't give them honest advice, they will still get into trouble.

My children--long grown--were startlingly similar.

Samos is severely strict, like he knows something terrible about their future. He forbids countless places that only entice them to explore.

Someday, it will lead them into a situation I fear they won't be prepared for.


	35. Zen

**A/N: Late in Jak X.**

**

* * *

**

Sig watched them with barely concealed worry.

Pacing.

Distracted.

They needed to dial it in. Now.

Or they'd lose.

Daxter already ached; the reality of size meant he'd die first. Jak looked healthy, but what would his best friend's death do besides devastate?

Glimpsing careworn goggles, he strolled out into muggy Kras.

Much better. Less tense.

The duo sat still, the picture of typical racers. Their gaze lingered over the ocean.

"Don't worry. They're fine."

"How're you so sure?" Sig glanced at his sister--a spectator because she'd raced here years ago, now disqualified.

"He's still. Fluid...like water. He's already won."


	36. Purgatory

**A/N: ****The night before the beginning of Jak II, still in Sandover**

**

* * *

**

There was only so much preparation—avoidance really—one could make for a journey like this. And yet he'd rearranged his tomes, meditated, paced, then finally found himself motionless at the bedroom door.

If he kept doing these things, it could undo the future. He had to believe that...

Jak and Daxter were curled around each other on the extra cot. Starting the evening back to back, they'd tossed and turned until they were settled into their current tangle. It'd been happening for years and though it appeared a painful arrangement, neither tended to move once they'd gotten that way. Keira was asleep in the next one, relaxed and half smiling. Forgotten tools were scattered on top of the blankets; a bad habit he'd never managed to scold out of her.

Excited about testing the gate they'd spent a week hauling to the hut, Jak and Daxter simply hadn't gone home. The old man had only managed to dissuade his daughter from testing based on the late hour.

_'Who knows what will happen when we activate this. It is ancient Precursor technology! It would be wisest if we were **at least** well rested.'_

Samos had choked on the words. He'd known the moment he saw his daughter's latest welding project that their time in this idyllic place was ending.

And though he'd never asked the renegade Jak of the future for any specifics, he'd learned that prison had drawn him to the Underground from Kor. Several years into Sandover, he'd suspected that imprisonment had involved the rumored eco experiments as he watched the child effortlessly channel.

The Baron was no fool, everyone agreed. He would have seized on Jak's skill.

The eco experiment's failures—particularly from a division codenamed DWP—spoke of horror Samos could not conceive. A doctor who worked for the Underground had shown him several cases. Called it the most inhumane treatment he'd ever seen.

Certainly Jak had survived, but at what cost?

It was the only explanation he could fathom for how the bright, friendly boy cuddling his ottsel best friend, had become the mouthy, hurt and angry young man who saved Haven City.

Restless—guilty—the sage turned to leave.

But a groggy blonde head rose to investigate the doorway. Jak was barely alert, relaxed and only curious. This was a second home, an adult around to handle problems.

Utterly safe.

Samos spoke softly, his voiced pitched an octave above a whisper—at once reassuring and heartbroken.

"It's alright Jak. Go back to sleep."

Mild confusion creased his features followed by almost immediate acceptance. Jak grinned, sheepish and a little silly. Flopped down and settled almost instantly back to sleep. The other two sunk back into instinctive deeper sleep, stirred in response to their friend.

The sage listened to their breathing for endless moments. He left, down to the kitchen and sat, head propped in his gnarled hands. There were tears, and he knew he was sobbing.

How could he do this to his children?


	37. Pride

Pyrotechnics were his hobby, his specialty and his life.

Nothing like mixing a few chemicals together in the right amounts at the right moment and watching them rain down destruction.

Fortunately it made him particularly useful to the Underground. Torn always had a weapons depot or something that needed lighting up. No one could do it like he could and everyone in Haven knew it (even if they didn't know him).

Dodging the law now had a higher purpose and that suited Jinx just fine.

Throwing a wrench in the Baron's plans was just the added icing on the cake.


	38. Words

A/N: Post Jak II

* * *

Newly drying paint, the product of hooligans or the opposition coated the garage walls with grotesque slurs. Jak was not always a hero to the city and they often chose his favorite haunts to declare it.

She was sitting on an overturned crate, cradling a bucket filled with solvent to loosen the paint from the metal. Her scrubbing was fiercely concentrated.

Two Freedom guards approached.

"Miss, I'm sure you mean well, but this time next week they'll have done it again." His tone implied she was fighting a losing battle not worth the effort.

Keira glared and continued undaunted.


	39. Danger

A/N: Just Prior to the beginning of the Baron's reign

* * *

It was three in the morning.

Dark.

Cold.

Their mother was urgent, dressing them and telling them to leave everything behind.

Sig was openly crying, clutching his crocabear fiercely and refusing to leave without it. From the back of a zoomer she'd never seen before Zaya got a last glimpse of home as they banked away towards the port.

Sig calmed at the promises of an adventure; but hiding in the back of a transport with several other people they didn't know wasn't much of an adventure. Nor was the windblown shack they landed at hours later.

It was terrifying.


	40. Light

**A/N: Early Jak II**

* * *

He'd forgotten sunlight.

Everything in the prisons was bathed in shades of lime green he'd substituted. Cold seeped into everything; the light making it worse. The pulsing from them induced a headache within minutes. Never bright enough to see beyond the edges they tortured him.

Days blurred because it was never completely dark.

That first morning, when freedom was a concept almost mistaken for a dream, the storm clouds over Haven broke as the sun was rising.

It was warm.

So bright it hurt and yet he'd squinted into the glare.

And his sharp shadow proved he was still alive.


	41. Pirate

"I catch any of you down here again; you'll be wishing you were dead! Get lost!"

The teens fled the garage with the speed of kangarats.

Spargus's citizens kept their pasts private. Aside from youngsters raised here, none had come to the city willingly.

Kliever had amassed the largest speculation about his life.

Sky pirate was a popular choice. He certainly talked the part.

He'd spent time in Kras; imagining a bodyguard or bouncer suited his size and personality.

Rarely did anyone suspect the truth.

Kliever preferred fantastic conjured myths to reality. Easier to intimidate punk kids that way.


	42. Trust

**A/N: Anywhere in Jak II**

* * *

Their run was frantic. Throwing himself across another gap caught Jak badly, stealing his breath with the impact.

Already the Guard swarmed nearer.

Daxter's frantic shouting cut short as he tumbled across the roof. Instantly he righted, racing back to help.

The problem with no plan was inevitably running out of rooftop.

Below lay the Port. He wasn't sure they'd make it. If they could survive a fall.

Jak swallowed.

"Ahh what the heck? You only live once right? Go for it Jak!"

Confident, reckless and 100% Jak's best friend.

They didn't look back as Jak leapt into nothing.


	43. Demon

**A/N: Early Jak II. Couldn't escape cliche here.**

* * *

The ground was slicked in blood and eco. Feral, ink dark eyes roamed the square, searching for more.

Swallowing down terror for the tenth time in as many minutes, Daxter hoped it was over. Words lost to him.

Jak had crossed a line, one seen only after they were over it.

In the pregnant silence that followed that became painfully clear.

It was not filled with wailing or screaming that should have been there. As Jak came back to himself in agonizing fits and starts, there was only the tensing of muscles as he wound the horror down into himself.


End file.
